Companion to a Demon
by Skalidra
Summary: Jason is the son of Lady Shiva, born and raised in the League of Assassins and trained since he was a child. Then he's introduced to another small child in the same situation. Damian al Ghul. He's assigned to guard the child for a night, and when he's actually good at it, is offered the chance to be at Damian's side for the rest of his life, as his own personal White Ghost.
1. Chapter 1

So this is a bit of a weird one. Do you all remember when Jason went hunting for his birth mother? Not the painful, awful ending of it all, but back when they were considering the three different women with 'S' names it could be? And one of them was Sandra Woosan? AKA, Lady Shiva? So, I might have written this in response to that. This, is a 'what if' scenario of what if Jason's mother actually was Shiva, and he'd been raised with her, in the League? And, you know, there's a tiny Damian there too? So, this is a thing. I like the thing. (And though it might be April 1st, I swear this is not a joke. I kind of despise April Fool's Day.)

By the way, the pairings on this are very 'eventual', and I will get around to them but it might take a bit. (The rating might go up too if I end up writing sex, which, frankly, I probably will.) There's some backstory and growing up to do first. Enjoy!

* * *

The ground is always harder than I remember it being, and this is absolutely no exception. The wind is knocked out of me, but I shove past it and roll to the side in time to avoid the follow up heel towards the center of my chest. I move far enough up that I can backpedal, blocking the foot aimed at my head and getting just far enough out of range that I can get all the way back to standing. I stay a bit crouched though, ready to move in any direction because I am so _severely_ outmatched.

Honestly, I love my mom to death but when she trains me personally I never go into it expecting anything but a sound ass kicking and enough bruises and sprains to take me out for about a week. It's kind of fun, if not also pretty humiliating.

And we always pick up a crowd, not that I can pay them the slightest attention if I want to get through this without broken bones.

She's smiling a bit — with that sharp edge that means she's enjoying beating me — but I only get a fraction of a second before she's moving towards me again. My chest is still burning, I can still barely breathe, but I meet her. I duck under the strike of her left arm, going for a return punch lower on her side where I've got more force and of course missing completely because she's already dodging. I get a sharp punch to the back of my shoulder in retaliation, which I let spin me around as I take the momentum and use it to get farther away.

Not far enough though, because the next second I'm getting yanked back by the back of my tank top and she's got my arm, twisting it high up behind my back. I give a breathless yelp as my shoulder strains, and then she lets me go and shoves me forward. There's a scattering of laughter in the crowd as I spin back around to get her back in my sights.

"Try again, Little Jay." Her voice is quiet, meant for us and not the crowd, and there's a slight softness to it that I recognize as a reminder to not pay attention to the audience. Or the fact that they're enjoying my slight humiliation.

Whatever. My mom is a fucking _badass_ , and if anybody thinks they can do better I will _seriously_ enjoy watching her break at least a couple of their bones. This? This is giving me slack because she cares for me, otherwise I'd end up with much nastier injuries and much longer medical downtime. She wants me trained to be as dangerous as I can be — I could go toe to toe with any of these morons around us and I know it — so she's not going to pull her punches; being her son just means that she doesn't hit quite as hard, it's never meant that she really goes easy on me. I knew how to hold a blade almost before I could talk, and by the time I really had a grasp on language I knew more about martial arts than most fully grown men.

I _will_ make sure she stays proud of me.

I give a small grin, studying her posture as we circle each other. Not that I'm going to find a weakness in it, but maybe she'll fake an opening or something and I can try that, even though really I'm better off waiting for her to come at me instead. I can usually hold out a bit longer if I focus on defense and counter strikes than if I try and be aggressive. Took me a while to learn that, but it got drilled into my head eventually.

She strikes faster than I expect, of course, but I manage to react in time to her lunge forward and the strike of her heel towards my chest. I slide to the side, along the outside of her leg as I push it away and move in closer. Her weight drops as that leg does, and I can only envy her speed as she braces on that foot and hand and sweeps out her other leg towards mine. All before I can get close enough to strike back. I leap over it and she's still turning, spinning with the momentum and striking up at me with her left hand as she comes all the way back around. I get on the outside of the blow, feeling the rush of air as it almost grazes my cheek and then reaching up and grabbing hold of her arm. I twist the delicate joint of her wrist, pushing down and straining it to try to straighten her arm and pin her shoulder down.

Then she's turning against it, nails digging into my wrist in turn as her shoulder pops straight out of place. I don't have the time to react to that with anything more than mixed worry and pride before one of her calves is slamming into my stomach and throwing me back. I let go on reflex, hit the ground on my back which knocks out any _tiny_ fraction of air I might have had left in my lungs, and then a fraction of a second later she's kneeling over me with one knee pressing down across my throat.

I raise my hands in surrender as I struggle to draw in air, and watch her casually jerk her shoulder back into place. There's a tiny thread of pain in her expression, but it's overwritten by the small grin and the shine of pride. I can't help grinning back, even though I really can't breathe.

"Not bad, Little Jay," she murmurs. "You've certainly improved since we last sparred."

I sound as breathless as I feel, but I manage to get out, "In my blood, isn't it?"

She gives a quiet laugh, and shifts her knee off of my throat. "That it is. Share dinner with me? I'd like to hear the news about your lessons and instructors, and perhaps I can tell you a few stories about my latest mission."

I can't help the rush of excitement as I push myself up and follow her as she stands. "Sounds great. We leaving now, or having another few rounds out first?" I love hearing her stories. I love knowing that someday, _I'll_ get to be the one out serving the League and kicking ass. Hopefully right next to her so I can see everything she describes in person and I can come back with stories of my own. Telling her what my instructors are putting me through and what I'm in the middle of learning — or who I beat up this week — just doesn't have the same kind of impact to it.

"Later," she tells me, rolling both shoulders back and dismissing the crowd around us with a flick of her hand. None of them are stupid enough to stick around. "Talia wishes to speak with both of us."

I don't quite freeze up, but I stall for a second. _Talia?_ As in Talia al Ghul? I think she's spoken to me all of once, and I might have been all of three or four at the time. I've seen her more than that, and she speaks with my mother sometimes, but she's never seemed interested in me. I like it that way, honestly. I don't want attention from any of the real big names until I'm good enough to prove I'm worth it, and I'm not quite there yet. I'm _damn_ good, and I can take almost any of the rank and file assassins in here, but I have so much more to learn. I know that.

My mother gives a small smile, raising a hand to ruffle through my hair. I make a bit of a face, but don't pull away from her. "Relax, Little Jay. If it was for a bad reason I would have been warned beforehand, and I can think of nothing you've done that would cause her to be displeased." A bit of a sharp look. "Can you?"

"No, Mother," I answer obediently, and it's actually true. I get in trouble sometimes, but only with my instructors and rarely with enough importance to even be brought up to my mother when she comes back through. By all accounts I'm a great student, they just have issues with my confidence and willingness to talk back sometimes.

I think it just frustrates them to be called out when they're not right, and it frustrates them that I'm willing to make sarcastic or mocking comments when they give me the opportunity. It really only makes me laugh when they threaten to beat it out of me; if my mother wanted an obedient little servant she would have made sure I held my tongue long before any instructors got a hold of me. I am the son of _Lady Shiva_ , and I will damn well never curb my confidence just to please some irritated instructors. I'm better than that and I know it.

None of my instructors are allowed to punish me for my attitude, at least not as badly as they want to. A sharp rap with a cane will sting and maybe bruise, but they can't really _hurt_ me unless I'm outright disrespectful, and then my punishment gets handed off to my mother. I remember getting to watch her take _apart_ the last instructor who thought he could hurt me behind my mother's back.

He beat me until I bled, stripped some of the skin off the back of my thighs, so she made sure to strip _all_ of his off. Inch by inch, until he was screaming _so_ much more loudly than I ever did. She let me make the ending strike when his body was giving out. I was five, and it was my first kill.

That was what really convinced me that I never wanted to be anything but as dangerous and unstoppable as my mother. I've never regretted that choice, and I know I'm well on my way even with the barrier of only being eleven. Age won't be a problem for much longer, and for right now it just means that I focus on being small, underestimated, and _faster_ than my opponents. Every once in awhile I still get some idiot from the masses who thinks taking me down will make him famous or something, and I take special care to _humiliate_ those ones.

"Good," my mother says with a touch of praise, as she wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me towards one of the exits to the inside training hall. "I'd hate to hear that you've been misbehaving while I was gone."

"You _love_ hearing about me misbehaving," I correct. "You just don't like it when I'm blunt about it or get in _real_ trouble."

She laughs, voice high and clear as she squeezes me in against her side. "True enough, Little Jay. Perhaps you should let me handle the conversation with Talia, hm?"

I roll my eyes, nudging her ribs with my elbow as I grin up at her. "I can behave, promise." Which is totally true; my mom taught me to show respect to the people I needed to before I ever even met them. Wouldn't have lived long if I disrespected _everyone_. Still, Talia's a different puzzle altogether, and it's probably better if I don't talk too much. So I let my grin get small and crooked, leaning my weight just slightly into her as we walk. "You got it, mom. I'll be quiet."

She reaches up and ruffles my hair with her free hand. "Good call." Her voice definitely has a bit of teasing to it, but that's fair. Not that I would have _actually_ have been dumb enough to talk back to Talia _al Ghul_. Probably.

I let my mom guide me towards wherever it is that Talia's asked us to be, which turns out to be somewhere deeper into the levels of this base than I think I've ever been allowed before. My mom's got nice rooms, and most of the time I'm the only one in them since she's off doing missions or whatever her business is, but they're off in a different section. We're sectioned into the area for the League's lieutenants, but this? This is the al Ghul's section, and if you're not a guard or you're not specifically asked for, you don't belong here.

I almost stall for a moment as we come in sight of two guards, but my mother's arm stays around my shoulders and she steers me right towards them. So I shove away the flutter of nervousness in my stomach at the appraising stares of the two guards — and their casual grip on unsheathed weapons — and step into place beside my mother. Apparently they already know she's coming, because neither of them stops her from stepping right between them and pushing the door open.

I step in after her, sweeping my gaze across the room we've stepped into even as I register the guards at our backs moving to shut the door again behind us.

It's a bedroom, or at least that's the layout, but instead of a bed behind the fall of sheer curtains there's a wooden crib trailing what looks like soft black fabric from its sides. Talia is standing over it, though she's watching us with just a touch of wariness to the steel of her gaze, one hand resting on the side of the crib. That _has_ to be her son in there; she might have kept it almost completely under wraps but my mother told me that Talia was having a child. That's about all I know though, apart from the fact that it's a boy.

I kind of _really_ want to know who the father could possibly be, but I'm not suicidal enough to ask. I will take exactly as much information as she feels like volunteering and then keep my mouth shut unless she wants to give more.

The door shuts, and I remember my manners _just_ in time. I try to make the way I sink to my right knee graceful as opposed to jerky, dipping my head to bare the back of my neck as I raise my right hand to my heart. My mother stays standing, but I know better than to think that means that _I'm_ not expected to show more respect. I don't have the reputation, skill, or standing of my mother.

"You may stand," Talia says, with the slightest approving edge. I shift back to my feet, meeting her gaze squarely and resisting the urge to shift closer to my mother. "Thank you for coming to meet me, Sandra." I almost twitch at the sounds of my mother's actual name; I am _so_ unused to hearing her called anything but 'Lady Shiva.'

"Of course, Talia," my mother says with a smile. "What is it you wish to speak about?"

Talia's gaze slips sideways, to me. "Your son, as a matter of fact. Jason, isn't it?"

I nod, and then confirm it with a, "Yes, Mistress al Ghul."

She tilts her head just a bit, and then takes a glance down into the crib before she speaks. "My father and I have a few large operations planned for tonight, and I would like to take all of my more elite subordinates with us. Including you, Sandra, but you'd already been informed of that." My mother nods. "I refuse to leave my son unguarded however, and if I am to take my guards I require someone to take their place. Someone I believe will not harm nor allow harm to come to him."

I stay silent, waiting for her to come around to her point even though I think I can see where this is going.

Talia turns a little bit more fully towards the two of us. "Your mother's told me that you're fairly far advanced in your studies, Jason. Is that true?"

I glance at my mother, considering the question, and then incline my head as I choose the safe option. I _could_ be confident of my own skill, or do what I really want to which is flash a cocky smirk and tell her that _yes_ , I'm kind of a badass, but what I let come out of my mouth is, "I trust my mother's estimate of where my training is. She would know better than me."

It's definitely true. _I_ think I'm pretty skilled, and I think she does too, but she's trained lots of people before me and I honestly don't know for sure how I compare. If Talia wants an estimate of my skills, she'll get a better one from my mother than from me.

By the slight flicker of a smile on _both_ of their faces, I think that was definitely the right answer.

Talia raises a hand, crooking her fingers to beckon me closer. I pause for just a moment before I obey, moving up to her side and next to the crib, then following the motion of her hand to look down into it. The baby inside is wrapped in soft fabric in shades of dark red and gold, with a fuzz of black hair on top of his head and large jade eyes staring curiously up at me. Almost without thinking, I quiet my breathing a touch and keep myself still.

"This is my son, Damian." Talia's voice is quiet, with a touch of softness I've never heard in it before. "You'll stay in this room by his side and guard him until I return tomorrow morning. No one else is to come into this room, and I expect you to kill anyone who tries. Do you understand?"

I lift my gaze, looking back up at Talia. "Yes, Mistress. Is there any code word or phrase I should know, in case plans change? Or instructions, for if he needs anything while you're gone?"

Another small flicker of a smile. "Yes, both." She straightens a touch, turning towards my mother. "Sandra, I will see you later for our journey. Thank you for bringing your son to me." My mother gives a small inclination of her head, and Talia turns back to me before she can say anything. "Jason, do you require something to write this information down, or will you remember it?"

"Is it a lot of things?" I ask bluntly, as I hear the door open and then close shortly after. "I know memory techniques, but if it's more than four or five things I'd like to write it down at first so I can memorize that instead of just hearing it once."

Talia gives a soft laugh, and I almost _jump_ as Damian responds to the sound by making what I can only describe as a _coo_. I look down, and those chubby little cheeks have risen with an open mouthed smile, eyes wide and sparkling. I haven't had many opportunities to use adjectives like this living with the League, but it's pretty damn _adorable_. This is Talia's son? The heir to the demon and the next ruler of the whole _League?_ I don't think I can fully connect the images of the deadly killer this kid is going to be with the adorable, chubby cheeked child he is right now. But then I guess I was probably the same as a baby, and I'm definitely dangerous now.

One of Talia's hands reaches down, stroking fingers over her son's cheek and then leaving them to be gripped by the tiny fingers of one flailing hand. "It will not be much to remember," she assures me. "Listen well though, because I expect you to follow all of them with the utmost precision."

"Of course, Mistress al Ghul."

* * *

The room is dark and silent, but that's good. My eyes have long since adjusted to it, positioned within the room and against a wall like I am. There's a barred and bulletproof window on the wall to my left, the main door on the right wall, a door to the bathroom — no entrance through there — directly to my right, and Damian's crib just across from me. The moonlight is shining through the window, but that's the only source of illumination in the room and it doesn't do much but brighten a square near the center of the stone floor.

There's no direct line of sight to Damian's crib, not from the window or the door. To get a shot at him you'd have to be already inside the room, which is where I come in. I'm here to be still and silent, part of the scenery, unless someone tries to break in through either of those entrances. Then I either kill them, or leave them too broken and crippled to do anything but tell Talia _exactly_ what she wants to know before she enacts vengeance for the attempt on her son's life.

The base itself is quieter than I've seen it in a long time; whatever job the al Ghul's are pulling tonight it must be a pretty massive undertaking. Not that I don't think I'm a pretty good choice as a guard to Damian, but more that there are other subordinates of hers that are more experienced and arguably more trustworthy, so leaving me to guard him is definitely not the first choice. Whatever they're doing must either be a massive assault, or a war on so many different fronts it's unbelievable.

If my mom can tell me about it, I'll be really interested to hear the stories when she gets back.

Damian's been more or less asleep the whole time, though I circle around every once in awhile to check and see if he needs anything. Most times he's dead to the world, but twice I've gotten wide jade eyes blinking up at me that are just as curious as that first look I got. It's a weird feeling, but there's something in my heart that feels _soft_ whenever he looks back at me. It's kind of similar to the feeling I get in the quieter moments alone with my mom, but at the same time not at all.

I think I might have protected this kid even if he didn't have the al Ghul name behind him, though having that name will certainly make his life easier. In some ways. I can only imagine the training that Talia and Ra's will put him through, but on the other hand he's already got the weight of a deadly name and the promise of an army at his fingertips. When he grows up he'll be quite the force to be reckoned with, and I kind of hope I'm still here to see it. I hope I get to watch whole armies have to bow to this tiny kid and his wide eyes.

From the other side of the room there's a low cry, and I'm moving before I can even think about it. I stay in the shadows as I circle the room, coming up on the other side of the crib so I can look inside. I can see another cry building, his cheeks flushing red, but I raise my gaze up so I can still see the window and the door before I make a move to stop it.

I gently hush him, and when that gets me an offended looking blink of his eyes and the flail of one tiny arm, I let my mouth twist into a soft smile. "Hush, little al Ghul," I murmur. "I know, I'm a poor substitute for your mom. She'll be back soon."

I draw one of my bigger knives into my right hand, and then lower the left into the crib. Almost immediately there are hands grabbing at my fingers, and then a mouth wrapped around my index. I make a bit of a face, but don't retrieve my hand and don't lower my gaze. I can't feed him — apparently Talia is the only one who does that, out of necessity as well as a safeguard against poison — there's no smell, and I'm not allowed to pick him up out of the crib unless it's necessary for his safety or the aforementioned _smell_. But she never said I couldn't let him play with my hand to keep him happy and quiet. I know; I studied the rules she gave me pretty carefully to make sure I knew exactly what I could and couldn't do.

I'm not risking my life, his, or my mother's just because I wasn't paying attention.

His mouth leaves my hand, and tiny hands grab on kind of surprisingly tight as he squirms and then gives another soft cry. When I don't instantaneously respond, the next breath of his comes out louder and sounding a lot like it's a warning.

Without thinking about it I hum something soft, without the tune of any song I know but I don't think that matters. I glance down at him with a small smirk, and keep my voice low and quiet as I speak. "Easy, little prince. You can shout at me all you like when you're older, but maybe you want to keep yourself in check for at least a couple years. Pick fights with people you know you can beat, little al Ghul, not everyone around you." I let my smirk widen a touch, moving my hand against his grip to run my fingers back across that soft fuzz of hair. "Tell you what; if we ever spar, I promise I'll let you beat me the first time. Confidence boost and all that. Just don't expect me to do it a second time."

I have no idea if he understands even a little bit of what I mean, but he quiets anyway. His eyes are watching me as intently as I'm watching the two entrances to the room, and there's a significant focus to them for such a small child. I really do think he's going to be _very_ interesting when he's older, and again I find myself curious who could possibly be the father. I just can't imagine who Talia and Ra's could have both found worthy of creating his eventual heir, let alone someone that Talia would actually be interested in.

Then again, I don't think anyone expected Lady Shiva to sleep with some random nothing of a criminal in Gotham's underbelly and end up with me, so there's that. I doubt Damian was an _accident_ , but maybe it's more likely than I think that there's someone out in the world that the al Ghul's would consider worthy. I'm just probably not close enough to the top to know who it would be. Or, maybe it will get easier to know who Damian's father is as he gets older and more traits show through. He can't be _all_ Talia, not unless there's some weird cloning shenanigans going on anyway.

There's a soft tap of something on the stone behind me, and reaction takes over.

I duck and whirl, pulling my hand away from Damian as I fling the knife in my other hand towards the sound. And then immediately freeze, because it's _Talia_ behind me, and _Talia_ snatching my knife out of thin air before it hits her. Her eyes are slightly narrowed, and as she flips the knife in her hand I swallow and shake myself into movement.

I bow my head as I sink to one knee, baring my neck just like before as I say, "Sorry, Mistress al Ghul." It's not enough, and I _know_ that, but there's really not much else I can offer for throwing a knife at _Talia al Ghul_.

"Do not apologize," she remarks, as she moves closer to me. "I gave you no warning it was me, and I would rather you strike at me than hesitate to confirm an identity beforehand. I am more than capable of defending myself." She presses the hilt of the knife to my shoulder, and — still both embarrassed and nervous — I reach up and take it to tuck it away again. "Things went well?" she asks.

She definitely doesn't give me permission to stand though, so I stay exactly where I am as I answer. "Yes, Mistress. No one entered the room, and Damian seemed mostly content with sleeping or watching me."

"Good." She's silent for a moment, and then her fingers brush the back of my neck. "Thank you for your service tonight, Jason. You're dismissed; you may return to your mother."

I slip back to my feet, keeping my head a little bowed as I step to the side to give Talia space. "Yes, Mistress," I acknowledge, before I head for the door. I get about halfway there before I pause and turn around, a question burning in my mind. "Is there a secret entrance to this room, or did I _really_ miss you coming in?"

Talia's mouth curls into a small smirk, watching me with the crib between us. "I did not come through the door or the window, no." It's not _exactly_ the answer I was looking for, but at least it lets me draw my own conclusions that _yes_ , there's a secret entrance in this room. Not surprising; it makes sense that Talia would want an exit strategy that no one else knew about for the sake of her son's safety.

"Got it." I bow my head again, bite back the, 'it would have been nice to know that,' sitting on the tip of my tongue, and resume my walk to the door. Talia doesn't stop me, and the door isn't locked when I slip outside. The guards are back though, not that either of them spares me more than a glance.

That's fine; they've got jobs to do and I don't need their attention.

The base is quiet as I slip through it, which makes me wonder if Talia waited for a while before coming back to her son. Usually when missions this big get pulled off there's a lot more movement all around as people get patched up, eat, and then head back to their rooms to sleep off the fatigue. So either a _lot_ fewer people came back than originally went out, or my release was delayed and everyone's mostly already settled. I suppose I'll find out which it is from my mother, if she's still awake, or just by observation tomorrow. I've got training with my instructors for most of the day, but I'll travel through enough main areas going between them that I should be able to notice if we're missing a lot of people.

I get back to the rooms I share with my mother and fish my key out from inside my clothing to unlock the door. Light spills out from inside, and I raise my gaze as I step in to find her in the middle of stretching. She finishes the one she's doing as I close and lock the door again, and then settles back onto her feet and turns towards me with a soft smile. She's already dressed down, and a quick flick of my gaze doesn't turn up any bandages or bruises forming on her skin so she probably can't be too badly hurt.

"Did things go well, Little Jay?"

I shrug as I move towards her, and give a small grin as I answer, "I threw a knife at Talia." One moment for her eyes to flicker wide, and then I expand on the comment before she can start her questions. "Heard a noise behind me and threw the knife before I looked; she said she'd rather I almost hit her than hesitate on killing an intruder just to identify them first. We're fine."

I'm close enough by that point for her to reach forward and tug me into a hug, and I ease into it just as much as she does, wrapping my arms around her waist as hers circle my back. " _You_ are a tempter of fate, Little Jay. Luck's been kind to you so far; perhaps you should stop relying on its protection."

"I'll be careful," I promise. "What about you? Halls are quiet; how'd things go out there?"

One of her hands ruffles my hair. "Very well. Let me tell you all about it, and you can tell me more about this throwing a knife at _Talia al Ghul_ business, hm? I don't believe we ever got together for that dinner."

I grin up at her, letting go as she does and meeting her soft smile. "Of course, mom. Sounds _great_."

* * *

Getting summoned back the next day with my mother is not totally surprising, but it's a little worrying. There's nothing I can think of — apart from the whole knife-throwing incident — that she'd need me for, or that I could possibly offer her. If she's changed her mind about it being alright I threw that knife…

I'm screwed, basically.

That leads to me being seriously nervous when my mother and I are led to her, and then left alone in a small, offshoot room I didn't even know existed. It's a few minutes — I resist pacing, barely — until the door opens again, and one quick look confirms it's Talia so I drop down to my knees.

"You may stand," she immediately says, before the door's even fully closed.

I rock back to my feet, staying as silent as my mother though I'm not nearly as calm as her and can't even pretend to be. It's apparently pretty bad because she reaches over and rests her arm around my shoulders, drawing me half a step closer. Being in against her side makes things a little easier, even though I'm not sure I could honestly say that I think my mother would choose protecting me over loyalty to the al Ghuls. That's… That's a dangerous line of thought.

"Sandra," Talia greets, looking down at me as well, "Jason. I have a meeting to get to with my father, so I'll be short. I have a proposition for you, Jason, one which would grant you a prestigious title and much power, if you want it."

My tongue fails me a moment, and I can't help glancing up at my mother for some kind of clue. I don't get anything; she's looking at Talia with slightly narrowed eyes, and I'm pretty sure that she's as in the dark as I am. Not a common thing, since usually my mother knows just about everything that goes on around here, or is directly involved with it.

"Do I get to know what it is first?" I ask, and Talia's mouth flickers into an amused little smile.

"I've been searching for someone to become my son's companion, and his guard. Someone well trained," she nods to my mother, "loyal, and of the right temperament. I believe you fit my standards, Jason, and I would like to officially offer you that position. As my son's guard, you would be second only to my family, and my father and I's immediate lieutenants."

"So…" I swallow, trying to think through all the different implications of that. "It would be like—"

"You would be to my son as the White Ghost is to my father. His right hand, servant, and protector. In addition, I would expect you to have a hand in training my son, and to keep him firmly grounded. If his genetics show anything, it is that arrogance is a likely pitfall. Someone of your almost insubordinate attitude should do well at keeping him from that."

I wince at that, duck my head for a second. Before I can even try and defend myself — not that there's much to say — she's speaking again.

"I don't require an answer immediately," she reaches up, sliding a bit of her hair back behind the ear it's escaped from. "I expect one before the end of tomorrow however; come to me whenever you've decided."

My mind spins as she turns away, my mother's hand tightening on my shoulder, and then I snap to a conclusion and call out, "Wait! Mistress al Ghul!" She turns back from the door, one eyebrow raised, and I straighten up and step out from under my mother's arm. "Yes. My answer is yes."

Because I remember that kid in the crib, those jade eyes and that smile. I already knew I'd protect the kid even if he was just some random person's, and the fact that getting assigned to do that comes with power, respect, and an actual position in the League? That sounds like a win-win to me, no matter how the kid grows up.

Talia studies me for a moment, and I hold her gaze steadily. She smiles. "Good. To start with, I'll be sending you around the world to learn from various masters. You'll be seeing whether these masters are as good as reputation says, and whether they will be of any use to my son once he's old enough to learn from them. We'll discuss details later, and then you will be sent on to the first. Clear enough?"

I nod, and back it up with, "Yes, Mistress al Ghul. Thank you for the opportunity."

She echoes my nod, turns back towards the door, and says over her shoulder, "I trust you will not disappoint me. I will send for you, Jason. I would recommend being ready to leave."

She sweeps out before I can even start to formulate a response, and I stare at the partially open door for a moment before my mother is circling my shoulders with her arm again and leaning down to brush her lips over my temple. I almost startle, twisting my head up, and she's smiling at me with this hint of pride that warms my chest almost instantly.

"Congratulations, Little Jay," she murmurs. "Come, let's get you packed. Talia did not specify _when_ 'later' was, and you should be ready whenever she calls." She pauses for a moment, I can't help smiling back, and then she squeezes my shoulder and adds, "Make me proud, Jason."

"Of course, mother."


	2. Chapter 2

Welcome back! So, today I have for you another chapter of this thing. We're skipping forward five years, is the information you need to know (because watching Jason wander through five years of training abroad would be immensely boring). It's mentioned in the chapter itself, but so you go into this knowing, this means that Jason is sixteen, and Damian is somewhere in the middle of five. Enjoy!

 **Warnings** for: mentions/reference to pedophilia, and rough training of a child (unrelated).

* * *

A hand pats the center of my back, dropping down to my waist as my current teacher leans over my shoulder to see what I'm doing. I'm familiar at this point with the satisfied little hum he gives, as I carefully measure out the different doses of potion and then match the bottles up with the correct labels from the pile at my right elbow.

"Are you sure about that one?" he asks, and I barely resist rolling my eyes. Expert of poisons he might be, a great liar he is not.

"Watch the hand," I mutter in answer, twitching my back sideways to dissuade the fingers slipping down towards my hip.

They retreat for about half a second, and then I do roll my eyes when they come right back. I ignore it until I've capped the next tiny bottle, and am looking through the pile of labels for the right one to match. Then they actually touch my hip, and I twist my head to give a small snarl over my shoulder.

" _Hand_ ," I stress, setting the vial down. "One warning, _sir_."

So far he's always backed down at this point, but this time the hand actually grabs instead of just touching, and I react. I jerk my head sideways, cracking my skull right into his face, and then twist and get out of my chair as he reels backwards with a shout of pain. I am _very_ careful not to disturb the table with all those delicate little bottles on it; a couple of those poisons can be airborne, or volatile if shaken. I could probably make it out, but my teacher might not and he's why I'm here. It's not just about the training.

Five years I've been traveling the world, sent from one supposed master to the next to ferret out which are actually as good as they say, and which are good enough to be sent back to the League's various headquarters to train the Demon's heir. Damian al Ghul, my eventual lord if everything keeps going as smoothly as it has.

Aside from this jackass' tendency to grope me.

Maybe I should have just told him flat out that I'm with the League of Assassins, and touching me would be _painful_. Or, maybe I can just enjoy taking a little bit of revenge for all the 'casual' touches over the last couple months.

"Alright," I start, advancing a few steps forward. "You listening to me now?"

He's a little taller than me — only sixteen, so I haven't hit my full height yet — but I've seen him working out and I've seen him 'practicing' some martial arts. His specialty is poison; he's got _nothing_ on me when it comes to combat. He doesn't know that though, and it is _really_ obvious given how he slides a foot back and holds both hands up like he's actually going to try and fight me.

"Sit down, boy!" He's _trying_ to sound commanding, he really is.

My mother is more frightening at her most casual.

I snort, leaving my hands loose at my sides as I move towards him. "How about you strip down and put your hands in the air and I don't hurt you? I know you've got surprises in your pockets, and I'm not interested in getting jabbed with anything."

That little sneer is something like righteous fury. "We're _done_ , boy. You get your things and get out of my home this _instant!_ "

I let my own little sneer curl my lips for a second. "You've got no _idea_ who I am, _sir_. I'm with the League of Assassins, we were testing to see if you'd make a good enough teacher to be brought into our bases. Congratulations, you pass. So you either cooperate, and the most you get is a nice little injection with a sedative, or you resist, and I take you down before the team that's moving you even gets here." I roll my shoulders, considering if I even want to pull one of the knives I've got hidden. "I gotta say, I'm rooting for option two. You have been a pain in the _ass_ to tolerate as long as I have."

Which is when the door crashes in.

He jerks, I lunge for him as he whips his head around, and the door hits the ground as I hit him. By the time my mother actually walks in, flanked by an assassin on each side and two more behind her that already have zipties in their hands, I've got the jackass on the floor underneath me, one arm twisted far enough up behind his back it just might snap if he struggles. That could be fun.

I let the two prepared assassins take my place, commenting, "Make sure to strip him down first. All kinds of nasty surprises hidden in those clothes." Then I walk to my mother, who has a faint smile on her face.

"What do you think?" she asks, and I roll my shoulders in a shrug.

"Good teacher; he knows his stuff. Could warn Talia that the bastard's got wandering hands though, so she might want to threaten to cut them off if he doesn't _fix that_." I aim the last two words over my shoulder, down at the latest in my line of teachers. Most of them have been pretty good, and even fun to be around. Definitely never been a pedophile among them, not until now anyways.

I'm not even a little worried. If he dares touching Talia's son she'll flay him alive. Or he will.

I haven't heard much about the little al Ghul's training, just little tidbits from my mother whenever I meet her in the short spaces between trainers. He'll be five now, and I know what I could do at that age. I'm pretty sure that Damian is being pushed a lot harder than I was, so unless he's somehow a failure he'll be further along. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he's already been trained how to hurt people, even if he might not have killed for the first time quite yet. Flaying a guy wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility.

"So where next?" I ask, as they finally gag the moron on the floor so he'll stop his stupid begging.

She gives another small smile, and then reaches out and pulls me underneath her arm. I just barely still fit. "Home," she tells me, as she steers me back out of the now empty doorframe.

My heart leaps just a little bit. "Really?" A nod confirms it, and I grin.

"Talia is recalling you, now that Damian is old enough for you to take your place at his side. You may have quite the challenge ahead of you, Little Jay; if I can tell you anything it's that he's certainly an al Ghul."

"Talking about skill or attitude?" I question, and she gives a small laugh as she pushes me into the helicopter. It should ferry us to a larger plane, which will then actually get us back to whatever League base Damian is currently housed in.

"Both. When we land we'll meet with the three of them, and you'll be introduced to Damian as his companion. You should expect for him to test you in some way; he hasn't agreed with your assignment like Talia and Ra's have. He's rather forward so far, so I'd guess it will be a simple spar." She takes the seat next to me, arm still around my shoulders, and murmurs, "I have confidence you'll succeed."

I smirk up at her. "Hey, al Ghul or not he's a five year old kid and I've had pretty much all the same teachers he has. I've got it."

"Jason—"

"Don't be arrogant," I finish. "Trust me, mom, I'm not going to be like the idiots who used to challenge me. He's an al Ghul, of course he's dangerous."

"And don't forget that this will be _watched_ ," she stresses. "I know Talia chose you partially for your attitude but don't overdo it, Little Jay. Ra's will be there too, and he might not appreciate you disrespecting his grandson the way Talia will. You'll have to walk the line to keep both of them satisfied."

I lightly dig my elbow into her side, and lower my voice to keep our conversation between just the two of us as the League minions load my still-slightly-struggling poison expert onto the helicopter with us. "It's alright, mom. I've got it; promise I'll be careful."

She gives a very soft sigh, and squeezes me into her side. "I know. But let me worry anyway, Little Jay. That's my right."

* * *

There's no luxury of cleaning up when we get back to the main base. It's in, and straight off to the throne room that I've been in all of maybe twice in my whole life. Both times it was brimming with people, but this time it's all but empty. Ra's is in his throne, Talia at the smaller one to his right, the White Ghost standing at his shoulder, and on the arm of Talia's chair, what has to be Damian.

Small, back straight and head held high, dressed in a rich gold and green robe that almost matches Ra's'. Impossible to tell what kind of muscle definition he has beneath that fabric, but I can see the head of shortly cut black hair, and the steel-blue eyes that are decidedly _not_ like either of his two present relatives. Those must be from whoever his father is; I don't recognize any kind of facial structure so it's probably not anyone from the League. Still, maybe it will become easier to see when he's older.

Or, when this is done, maybe I can ask. I'd have the right to as his companion, wouldn't I? At least the right to ask, if not to get an answer.

Talia's hand is resting at the small of Damian's back, but the gazes of all three members of the al Ghuls are trained on me. They stay that way as I approach — my mother stays by the door — and kneel at the base of the short flight of steps leading up to the three of them. Still in my loose jeans and dark grey t-shirt, I am _distinctly_ underdressed, but I try not to let it bother me. If they wanted me presentable, they would have left me time to clean up and change instead of demanding I immediately come here.

"Master," I offer, with a brief flick of my gaze up to about the level of Ra's' knees. Then, "Mistress," to Talia, as I briefly meet her gaze. Finally, I lower my head a few inches further, tilted towards Damian. "My lord."

"You may rise," Ra's announces.

I tamp down the little burst of nerves that flares in my chest — Ra's is speaking _directly_ to me — and get to my feet, bringing my hands behind my back and holding my head up as I slip into a simple, at-rest stance. I stay still in the silence, letting them inspect me as they want, until finally Damian scoffs.

" _This_ is to be my companion?" His voice is high-pitched, still a child's, but it's definitely got a sharp ring of command to it. "What is it that makes you qualified to be my right hand, _Jason Wu-San_? Tell me."

I meet his gaze, chewing my words over in my head for a moment before I speak. "Nothing but your family's approval, my lord, but if you're asking why they'd consider it… I'm the son of Lady Shiva, so I've been in the League since I was born. Mistress al Ghul asked me to be your companion five years ago, and since then I've been traveling the world learning from various masters and seeing whether they were fit to be brought back to the League to be your trainers as well. If you want a list of exactly what I've been taught over the years, I can give it. Might take awhile though."

I get a small smirk from Talia, and a much fainter curl of lips from Ra's as well. Damian, on the other hand, gives a scowl that I struggle not to call _adorable_. Oh, that's a dangerous word to apply to a five year old assassin child, and one I will _never_ say out loud because I kind of like my tongue and the skin of my back. Fine line between being a little mouthy and actually being antagonistic.

Damian slips off the arm of Talia's chair, stalking down the stairs towards me. I incline my head as he approaches and stops just a few feet from me. "And why should _I_ approve of you?" he demands, all but glaring up at me. "I do not require a glorified _guard_."

"You can test me however you like," I offer, "and I don't think you _need_ a guard either. But it would be nice to have someone at your side that's loyal, wouldn't it?"

"You think _you're_ that person?"

I have to try _really_ hard not to react in any inappropriate way to the sharp, demanding tone coming out of the mouth of a five year old _kid_.

"I think I could be, my lord." Thankfully I manage to say it with a straight face, as I watch him.

That also means that I see how he starts to move. I _could_ dodge the sharp strike of a fist to the center of my stomach — about the only thing he can hit without aiming up and robbing the strike of power — but after a fraction of a second I decide not to. I do tense up though, hold my muscles rigid so when it hits me it just makes me rock back on my heels a bit and spit out half a breath, instead of knocking me to a knee.

Hard punch — shouldn't be surprised — but it doesn't hurt all that much; not compared to what most of my trainers have put me through.

Damian sneers, stepping back and half turning, hands rising to undo whatever's holding together his robe before he flings it to the side. "Defend yourself," he demands, as it falls. He's in much more basic League work clothing below that; black, skin tight up top, loose on the bottom to allow for movement. I'm not used to seeing that on anyone this young.

I let my arms come out from behind my back, shifting a step backwards to give myself a little more space. He's young, he's small, he doesn't have my reach so the distance is to my advantage. But if he's good, that shouldn't be much of a problem for him. I'm sure he's good.

Unbidden, I remember that night I guarded Damian, and I remember the promise that's been sitting in the back of my mind since then. My mouth curls into a faint smirk.

Damian's fast, and he's definitely skilled. I dodge a fist, block the second, let a foot hit just enough of my ankle to fake it knocking me off balance without doing any damage. I study the way he moves as I let him drive me back about a dozen feet, letting the smirk fall off my face as my eyes narrow. He's _aggressive_ , is the main thing that sticks. Maybe because I'm only giving him the barest idea of a fight, and technically sticking to exactly what he's ordered me. I'm defending myself. Mostly.

At least until I let him buckle my left knee under me, follow it up with a hard palm high on my chest that gets me on my back. I recover in time, it's not that hard of an impact, but I don't give more than a cursory attempt to stop the sharp flick of a blade up to press underneath my chin, tilting it up to bare my throat as I ease back against the floor.

The look on Damian's face is almost disgusted. He pulls away from me, stowing that blade and taking one distinct step away before whirling to face his family.

"Grandfather, I will not take an _incompetent_ right hand!" Damian's voice isn't quite a shout, but it's loud enough to carry across the room. I get to my knees, checking the skin below my jaw with a brief swipe of my fingers. No broken skin.

When I look up, Ra's is smirking and Talia has a faint smile. I can't tell exactly what Talia's expression says, but Ra's' is most definitely _sly_.

"I think," Ra's says slowly, "you ought to give your new companion one more chance, Damian." Sharp indignation bursts to life on Damian's face, and Ra's' smirk widens a fraction. "Go on; one more round."

Damian scowls, but wastes no time. He whirls, strikes before I'm even on my feet again. This time I don't let him do anything at all. I shove his arm to the side, rush my weight forward into him and get us both on the ground. Smaller, lighter, _weaker_. He struggles, rolls to get out from under me, and I pull back just enough that I can slam him down on his stomach and press one of my knees down into the center of his back. I keep my touch careful as I wrap one hand in his hair to hold his skull against the floor and twist his right arm up behind him. He's more flexible than a fully grown adult would be, but also easier to injure.

He gasps, and I shove my knee a little harder into his back and take a careful glance at his other arm to make sure he's not reaching for another blade.

"You know," I comment conversationally, "you probably don't remember this, but I guarded you once when you were just a baby. I made you a promise." He snarls at me, and I dig my knee right into his spine to stop him. "I told you that the first time we ever sparred, I'd let you win. I also told you not to expect me to do it a second time, little al Ghul."

I let him go, pushing up and off of him and backing off a step. He immediately rolls over and follows me up, glaring at me with clear venom. "You—"

"Damian!" Talia calls, and he cuts off, turning to look up at her. "Come here, beloved."

Damian scowls at me one last time, and then stalks back towards his mother, swiping his robe from the floor with one angry movement. Ra's watches the whole thing with obvious amusement, and when Damian is seated on the arm of Talia's chair again — glaring _daggers_ into my skull — Ra's looks at me. I shift back into an at-ease posture out of both habit and obedience, lowering my gaze for a moment. I probably wouldn't with either Damian or Talia, but Ra's is a whole other game.

"Perhaps our next focus should be teaching you to recognize when an enemy is holding back, hm, Damian?" Ra's' tone is a little smug, and I lift my gaze in time to catch Damian's sharp glance towards his grandfather. "Talia, give Damian's new companion all the information he'll need to assume his post. Damian, I believe you have a teacher expecting you. It's poor manners to be late when you are expected; why don't we walk together?"

The amount of venom on Damian's face should not be possible, and I have to bite back the urge to snicker at it. "As you wish, grandfather," Damian says, clearly grudgingly, as he slides back off the arm of Talia's chair. There's respect in his voice though, underneath all of that irritation.

Eventual heir to the demon or not, Damian at least knows that Ra's al Ghul is the real power here. You just don't fuck around with a centuries old, technically immortal, martial arts master with a whole league of assassins at his fingertips. Not even if you're his grandson, and I guess that makes sense.

Hundreds of years, and Ra's hasn't had more kids? No way. I'd bet my ass that whatever kids he's had over all these years have either tried to overthrow him, or weren't good enough for him to consider giving them control of the League. Damian's just the next in a long line, would be my guess, even if Ra's seems to be holding him up as the actual next leader.

Maybe Damian will never become the Demon's Head. Maybe Ra's will never give that power up. Either way, definitely not my business if I want to keep my head, and I kinda do.

Talia pulls her son close, murmuring something in his ear before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. The scowl stays on Damian's face, but he leans into her touch just a little bit anyway. At least for that fraction of a second, before he's slinging the robe back on and hurrying to catch up with Ra's as he sweeps out a side exit to the throne room. Talia watches them go, then stands and moves towards me. I keep still.

"Thank you, Sandra," she calls past me. "You can go; we'll speak later."

I hear the heavy main door open and close behind me, but I keep my gaze lowered to the floor as Talia approaches. She reaches forward, tilts my head up, and I follow the silent prompt to meet her eyes. The slight scrape of her nails beneath my chin isn't anything I haven't felt from my own mother pretty often; it's never had the association of threat for me that she's probably used to it having.

She studies me for several long seconds, before lowering her hand. "What do you think of my son?" she asks.

I spend another few seconds thinking about it, before being fairly confident that my answer won't get me too badly hurt. "I don't know how you've trained him, but he's got a lot of talent. He moves well, and he's fast, strong for his age."

"And?" Talia prompts, with a little knowing smirk.

I can't help echoing it with a smaller flicker of my lips. "You were right, he's arrogant. He has a lot to learn."

"Well, that would be your job to fix, wouldn't it?" Talia smiles, and then her hand is on my jaw, tilting my head to one side and then the other. "You've grown into quite the young man yourself, Jason. You're…?"

"Sixteen," I fill into the pause, as if she doesn't already know.

"Right. Well, I'll be interested to see what you end up as when you've finished growing." She lets go of me, then steps back and quirks one eyebrow upwards in a refined arch. "Come along then; I'll show you to Damian's quarters and we can discuss the finer aspects of your new job."

I bow my head. "As you wish, Mistress al Ghul."

* * *

Damian's scowl is no less impressive, and completely at odds with the chubby five year old cheeks, when he eventually comes back to his room. I hold his gaze, not getting up from my seat at the foot of his bed.

His rooms are nice. An opening reception area, with a fabric-covered archway leading to his bedroom, which then has two offshoots as well. One to a very small room that seems to stock his clothing and weapons — and mine now too — and the other to a fairly luxuriant bathroom. There's modern plumbing, naturally, but it is limited to an actual bath instead of a more convenient shower. Everything in here is pretty much the highest quality, even the small, shoved-against-the-wall bed that's clearly mine.

After maybe ten seconds of glaring, Damian makes a sharp noise between his teeth and crosses his arms. "So you are disobedient as well as unimpressive."

"I don't remember hearing you give any commands."

Somehow, Damian's scowl gets deeper. He stalks forward, stopping almost right in front of me as he spits, "A servant should prostrate himself when his lord enters a room; or are you enough of a half-wit to not even understand the basics of your position?" It would probably be more impressive if he wasn't small enough that we're almost of an even height with me sitting on the ground.

I snort, curling my mouth into a small grin. "See, the way it was explained to me, I'm here to keep you safe, help you learn, and advise you, _my lord_. I'm not here to kiss your ass or inflate your ego."

He strikes, one fist flying for my head. I push myself down, ducking beneath the blow and twisting my momentum as I extend a leg and slam my foot into his gut. His eyes widen as he falls, hitting the ground hard on one side with an arm curling protectively around his stomach. Pain is clear in his expression.

He gasps in a breath as I push myself up to rest back against the bed again, and then opens his eyes and glares up at me. "How _dare_ you—" he starts, and I cut him off.

"Look, Damian. If you want to hit me while we're in public, that's your choice. I'm not going to counter in front of anybody else. But if you try and hit me when it's just the two of us, I'm just going to assume that you want to spar, and I'm going to retaliate. I am _not_ here to be your punching bag or cater to your every fucking whim, got that?"

He pushes himself up, pure _fury_ in those steel eyes. "You insubordinate—"

"Arrogant."

"—imbecile!"

"Ooo," I taunt, "nice alliteration."

Damian's hands are tight fists, but he's not trying to hit me again. Not yet, anyway. "The way you're behaving is _utterly_ inappropriate for a servant," he all but hisses. "If I told my mother she'd have you whipped, if she did not take your _head_ for it."

I dip my head in agreement, as I hold his gaze. "True, and it'd definitely hurt, but I'm _not_ your servant, Damian, I'm your companion. My job is to keep you safe and grounded, it's not to change your bed and cook your meals."

"That does not excuse the fact that you are disobedient and—"

"I'm _not_ ," I counter, and then I slowly shift forward, to my knees with both hands held out to the sides. "You give me an order and I'll follow it, Damian. But if I think you're wrong, or that there's a better way, I'm going to tell you as long as we're alone; I'll never undermine you in front of anyone else, I swear." I give a crooked grin and a small shrug. "Yeah, I've got an attitude and I speak my mind, but I'm loyal. Anyway, if you really want me gone, I'm pretty sure you could just ask your mother."

Damian studies me for a few long seconds, and then shoves a breath out through his teeth. "You do not know my family very well, do you, Jason? It is more than likely that you have been assigned to me just to test my patience." One quick flick of his gaze down my frame, back up it, as some of the tension bleeds from his body and his fists loosen. "I suspect I could not be rid of you unless you made a true attempt to murder me, or allowed someone else to slip your guard and harm me. _Not_ —" his voice rises in irritation "—that I require your protection. I am more than capable of defending myself."

I sit back onto my toes, letting a small smirk curl my mouth. "I don't doubt it. If there's anything that you want me to teach you, just let me know. You'll go through all the same teachers I had, eventually, but shortcuts can be useful."

"We shall see," he answers. "For the moment, you can prove you at least follow orders by starting a bath. I refuse to disrupt my routine for you."

I get to my feet. "Food's already on its way then?" The sharp glance pulls another smirk from me. "Your mother ran me through your schedule a couple of times. Back from lessons for the day; bath to get clean and dinner should arrive sometime in the middle, right?"

"At least you pay attention," he snaps, and then turns on his heel and stalks towards the archway to the bathroom. "How did you possibly survive a childhood here with your blatant disrespect for authority?"

I follow him through the arch, slipping ahead so I can kneel down by the head of the inset bath and twist the taps on. "My trainers weren't allowed to punish me; not anymore than a rap or swat anyway. Anything I did that actually deserved discipline was handed off to my mother instead. Lady Shiva."

"I am aware of your parentage," Damian comments, and when I glance back he's stripping out of the layers of clothing covering him. "So you were spoiled?"

I snort, watching the mechanics of how those layers come off. "Don't know my mother very well, do you? She taught me respect for power; _real_ power. Just because I called someone a teacher didn't mean they had the right to hurt me, and I wasn't going to take punishment from just anybody. The people that have _real_ power over me — you, your family, my mother — sure, but not just the guy teaching me how to speak and read German or something."

"I suppose that makes an adequate amount of sense." The agreement is grudging, but it's there.

He's bruised here and there, but that makes sense. You get bruises when you train with the League, plus I'd bet — I'll get to confirm it soon enough — that he's pushed harder than most other recruits. He's the Demon's heir; to keep that he has to be better than everyone else around him. Talia wouldn't risk her son failing that, at least I don't think she would.

"What about you?" I ask, as I shift to sit cross-legged beside the filling bath.

"My trainers are allowed discipline, provided it is not excessive. My grandfather would handle actual punishments." Damian's eyes are narrowed when he looks at me, with more steel in them than a five year old should have. " _If_ I ever earned them."

"The absolute perfect student, hm?"

It's supposed to be a joke, but Damian's gaze flickers away, as he drops the last piece of clothing to the floor. "It is expected," he answers, flatly. I don't have anything to say to that flat piece of truth, so I stay quiet as he slips into the filling bath and onto one of the small shelves within to sit on. "Jason."

"My lord?"

He looks away from me, briefly. "Once dinner arrives, you may join me. You smell of fuel from your travel, and I wish you redressed in appropriate clothing as soon as possible. Clear?"

I smirk, dipping my head in a small bow. "As you wish, little prince." He shoots me another sharp glare for that, and I study him for a moment. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Why would you need permission to speak now when you've clearly felt comfortable saying whatever inane nonsense has come into your head before?" Damian counters, splashing water up onto his arms — the bathwater is just about up to his waist right now.

"Who's your father?"

Without hesitation, Damian's gaze rises to me and he answers, "The Batman."

I choke on thin air for about half a second.

"You're fucking kidding me," I gasp, when I manage to swallow the air down and stop choking.

Damian's smirk is small enough I almost miss it, but there's a sharp kind of satisfaction in his eyes. "No. When I am old enough, I will take his position as well as my grandfather's, and the world will be at my feet. I am the Demon's heir and the Son of the Bat; it is my birthright."

"That's one hell of a plan," is my comment, before a thought occurs to me. "Does Batman know you exist?"

"Not yet." Damian seems entirely unconcerned with that fact. "Mother seems to think that he would attempt to steal me away from my place in the League if he were made aware of my existence. I doubt we will meet until the day I kill him and take his place."

I tap my hand against the floor. "So, let me get this straight. Your plan is to grow and train here in the League, go after your father — the _Batman_ — to kill him and take his place, and then take over as the Demon's Head and rule the world."

"In summary; yes."

I give a sharp bark of laughter, shaking my head. "Well, you're definitely ambitious." Then I aim a small grin at him. "Sounds like fun."


End file.
